


The First of Many

by Medie



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-04
Updated: 2010-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:59:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If she weren't already so damn fond of alcohol, Len thinks it'd drive her to drink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First of Many

**Author's Note:**

> written for [](http://saruwatari.livejournal.com/profile)[**saruwatari**](http://saruwatari.livejournal.com/)'s prompt "blue" (as in what I imagine the air looked like by the time Len's done)

Spock, as it turns out, is an escape artist. If she weren't already so damn fond of alcohol, Len thinks it'd drive her to drink. Having retreated to her office to finish (ha! try _start_) the mountain of paperwork on her desk, as if she can ever hope to get it done, she's muttering to herself about why the living hell it's even called paperwork when nobody's used paper in a few hundred years, when Christine sticks her head in the room.

Leaning back in her chair, Len bites her cheek against the urge to swear. As good as it feels, it's no fair to turn the air blue when her subordinates can't do it too. "_Again_?"

Christine nods once. It's almost a grin, but not quite. Smart, that one. She'll save the laughing for later. _After_ Len's dragged that pointy-eared pain in her ass back to Sickbay by his ears.

She goes from muttering about paperwork to muttering threats as she gets up. "Keep an eye on the captain," she warns. "If one got loose -- "

Brandishing a hypo, Christine lets loose a pretty grin. "Oh, I've got that one covered. He twitches -- "

"Thigh," Len nods. She's got dibs on the neck.

"No," Christine's grin widens.

Len smirks. She almost says it, but realizes that commending her nurse on jabbing their commanding officer in his ass with a hypo is probably not a good idea.

No matter how much Jim might damn well deserve it.

Instead, she plucks a hypo of her own from a nearby tray. A second later she's got enough sedative to bag her a grouchy Vulcan and then she's off on the hunt.

Even for a Vulcan, with his injuries, Spock doesn't get far. She's waiting at the door to his quarters when he finally limps around the corner.

At the sight of her, he immediately stiffens, drawing himself upward.

"Doctor."

Folding her arms across her chest, Len leans against the wall and nods. "Yes, at least we've managed to get that one down. The part, however, where you're a patient, well now, that one you seem to be just a might rusty on."

"I am sufficiently recovered, Doctor, that the rest of my recuperation may be conducted within the privacy of my quarters," Spock states. He almost sounds convincing.

If, that is, you weren't a doctor trained in recognizing somebody hiding pain. Even somebody with pointed ears.

"Oh sure," she drawls, annoyance thickening her accent. "You're just fine and dandy. If, that is, you didn't reopen any wounds on the way up here. You move the wrong way, _Commander_ and you end up on the table again. With the kind of internal injuries you've got, you'll lose more blood than we can replace. After the first surgery, I can promise we haven't got enough t-negative left in stores to go for a round two." The bio-lab was working overtime, but Len knows they won't get enough done in time.

"Then, logically, it would be best to permit me to continue my recuperation here," Spock says. "We should not risk further movement."

"Oh, we aren't going to," she snaps back. "We are going to see you carried back down there. Nice wide turbolifts we've got. Plenty big for a gurney." Specially with the nice modern ones not needing wheels and all.

She reaches for the console behind her, intent on calling her orderlies, when his hand closes around her wrist. Half dead or no, his grip is still damn impressive.

His peripheral vision, however, isn't so much. "Sorry," she apologizes, tucking the hypo against his arm. One hiss and he slowly slumps forward.

Len eases him down to the deck, careful not to jostle him anymore than she has to. There, she kneels at his side, checking him as best she can before sitting back on her haunches.

Pressing her lips together, she surveys him for a long moment before, just once and only briefly, she traces the curve of one ear with her finger. A gesture of affection she'd never permit herself were he in any way aware of it.

With more than a little guilt, she gets up to call the orderlies. "Just once," she sighs, not looking at him, "let me do it the easy way."

He's silent, but that's fine. She knows answer.

Not a chance in hell.


End file.
